I glance at Amira, and she’s staring at me with wide eyes. Her entire body is tense.

“But no one gave a damn until it was too late, and now there’s a dead baby, and you think we should defend this ‘community’ for not caring enough to notice there was a problem. That we should reward Clifford with good press. That we should heal wounds I guarantee you no one but the baby’s mother is feeling right now.”

“Well …” Sophia looks like a spring under too much pressure. Like she’s going to break if I make her think about this for one more second. “Well, this is for Lullaby Doe’s mother too. She’s a part of this community.”

“Is she?” I hold Sophia’s gaze, because I can’t wring her neck. “Do you think she feels like she’s a part of this?” I spread my arms to take in the whole circus.

“I really, really hope so,” Sophia says. And the truly stupid thing—the truly miraculous thing—is that she actually seems to mean that. “I gotta go make sure the microphones are set up.”

She gives her head a shake to fluff out her hair, then she plucks a fresh smile from the endless supply that evidently blooms deep in her soul, nourished by her relentless optimism.

“Find me in about five minutes, and I’ll light your candles.”

Then she practically runs from me, headfirst into the crowd. Accepting greetings and praise for her work, which probably chase away every unpleasant thought I tried to baptize her with.

“You okay?” Amira whispers.

“Peachy.”

“Beckett,” my mother calls, and I turn to see her headed toward me with Landry at her side, my sister’s eyes wide as she stares at the huge crowd. My mom’s wearing her badge; it’s all hands on deck tonight for the Clifford PD.

“Hey.”

“I want you to take Landry home, and both of you stay there. You can watch the vigil on TV, if you want. It looks like several stations will be covering it live.”

“What? Why?”

My sister wanted to come because all her friends were coming, and because she’d helped with the candles. Why would my mother bring her, only to tell me to take her home?

“Chief Stoddard just called. He said internet chatter says there’ll be protests tonight, and I’m worried it could get out of hand.”

“Who would protest a vigil for a dead baby?” Amira asks.

My mother gives me a look, and suddenly I understand. “That’s not what they’re protesting,” I say. “Don’t they need permits?”

“In a public park? Not as long as the demonstrators number fewer than fifty per group and they don’t use a sound system.”

“I don’t understand. What are they protesting?” Landry asks.

My mother sighs. “It appears that a couple of different groups have latched onto Lullaby Doe as a symbol for causes they were already championing.”

Amira frowns. “They’re using a dead baby to further their own political agendas?”